


Why, God, Why?

by Saffiaan



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Era, Danatole (but like... not much), F/F, Fedrey - Freeform, Fedya has feelings fight me, He's also a bit of an idiot, I don't do normal tagging, I first just need to make them hurt, I promise, M/M, Marynat (also not a lot), My boys will be happy this time, Pretty sure I live on Andrey's tears or something, Prostitution, very light NSFW (more mentions of it than anything else tbh)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-24 19:24:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16181585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saffiaan/pseuds/Saffiaan
Summary: Even when retreating from the French, there has to be room for some fun, right? At least, that's what Andrey's friend must have thought. And Andrey? Andrey has no idea what he's signing himself up for.





	1. Questions that don't ever end

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ofdaffodilsandmoonlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofdaffodilsandmoonlight/gifts).



> I do multichap fics? Apparently I do. Don't worry, I've written everything in advance so this fic won't be abandoned.  
> It was very much inspired by Miss Saigon, but don't worry, it isn't a retelling of the amazing musical. Just loosely inspired by one or two songs.
> 
> (Also, not sure if it's clear, but Andrey is a soldier. It probably is, but now you know anyway)

Andrey untangled himself from the heap of limps he had found himself in. He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, making the wood creak. It was surprising the piece of furniture was still standing really, with everything that had just happened.

 

Everything that had just happened. Well, it had been great, that was for sure. Andrey wasn’t in the habit of hiring prostitutes. He had mostly done it at the beginning of the war, when things weren’t looking this desperately yet. It just felt wrong now. But after enough pushing and prodding from a friend, he had ended up getting a room anyway. The friend had even paid for him. Though to be fair, it was cheap here. Getting a whore for the entire night didn’t even cost half of what an hour cost in Petersburg. Even this one, who was supposed to be the best of the brothel.

 

This one. As if he weren’t a human being. Sure, it was easier to pretend that was true, but that didn’t make it so. Andrey glanced over at the prostitute, no, at Fedya. He was human, he had a name. Fedya, who somehow lay as careless in the bed as if it were his own. As if the French wouldn’t take over the town within weeks. Sure, the Russians were here now, but they knew they would have to retreat sooner rather than later. Fedya had to know too, everyone knew. What would they do to him? Kill him? Use him? Sell him? Maybe even all three. It was far from unlikely. It made Andrey sick to think about. To think about those eyes empty and lifeless. Those eyes, which had been glittering with mischief even as their owner was treated as property.

 

Somewhat abruptly, Andrey stood up from the bed. He grabbed his trousers from the ground and started pulling them on, almost as quickly as he could. The bed creaked behind him, indicating that Fedya was moving now too.

 

“What’s wrong?” It was the first thing that came out of the man’s mouth that wasn’t coated in amusement. In fact, there was even something like worry underlying his voice. Andrey looked back at him. Fedya looked relaxed and confident, but a few tense muscles told a different story entirely. Which made sense. It couldn’t be a good sign if someone who paid for the night left after an hour. And if the scars on Fedya’s body were anything to go by, bad signs really were bad.

 

“Nothing,” Andrey assured him as he shrugged on his shirt, not bothering with closing it. It was the middle of summer and somehow it didn’t cool down even after the sun had set. “I’m just getting some fresh air.” Andrey didn’t miss the somewhat pointed look Fedya shot at the open window in the room, but decided to ignore it. It was a lie anyway. He just needed to get away from Fedya for a few seconds.

 

So Andrey made his way out of the room. He walked to the end of the hall, where there was a door leading to the back of the building. There he found a flight of stairs, which looked about as trustworthy as the bed he had left Fedya on. But the bed hadn’t broken down, so Andrey thought the stairs were safe enough to sit down on.

 

Andrey looked up at the moon, which hadn’t been visible yet when he had entered the building. It stared back coldly, giving no answers to the questions swimming through Andrey’s head. Most prominently ‘ _Why?’._ What had he done to deserve a night like this? Sure, it was great, but wasn’t that the problem? Andrey had been fine leaving this part behind to take for the French. Of course, the defeat it suggested, he hadn’t been fine with, but he hadn’t cared too much. Certainly not about the people living here. He had always successfully detached himself from that. He hadn’t cared about the villages they had had to hand over already. So why did it need to change now? Why could one man, a prostitute no less, change his mind like that? Why couldn’t Fedya be like the others? Quiet, meek, dull. Just another person. But Andrey had seen the intelligence in the man, the temperament prostitutes generally did not have exactly because it could get them in trouble.

 

The scars flashed before Andrey’s eyes again. Still, they were carried with a rare strength. It almost seemed as if Fedya would be able to save himself, but then… Would someone who could do that still be here? If the city could fall any minute? It seemed unlikely, especially for someone as smart as Fedya.

 

So what was the point? What was the point of this entire night? Andrey couldn’t help Fedya, no one could. If it had been anyone else, Andrey wouldn’t have cared but it wasn’t anyone else, damnit. So he did care and he knew he wasn’t just going to forget this man. He preferred his memories as they had been a few hours ago, but now he’d leave remembering _him._

 

The door behind him swung open and out stepped the man Andrey had just been thinking about. It seemed that Fedya had put on trousers for the occasion, but that was all the clothing he was wearing. He had looked beautiful inside already, but outsight, in the moonlight. God. He was gorgeous. Such a stark contrast with this place. With this entire war. And it made Andrey once again wonder _‘God, why?’_.

 

“I almost thought you’d have run,” Fedya said, the hint of a smirk curling up his lips. “You were gone for almost an hour, you know.” He sat down next to Andrey, apparently not bothering to ask if he could. Andrey didn’t know what he would have answered anyway, so maybe it was for the best. “That fucking mattress was about to kill my back. Though I can’t say these stairs are much improvement.” Andrey vaguely wondered how Fedya endured a night of getting fucked on a mattress he couldn’t even lay on for an hour, but decided not to ask.

 

“Why do you do this?” he asked instead, a question with which he surprised even himself. Of all the ‘why’ questions, that hadn’t been one he wanted an answer to. Though admittedly, he doubted Fedya could answer any of the others. And now that he had asked, he had gotten curious.

 

The question clearly took Fedya off guard. It seemed that, without Andrey knowing, they had followed some pre-written script until now. This question clearly didn’t belong there. In fact, Andrey was just about to take it back when Fedya answered: “I have a sister. Someone needs to pay for her.” He gave a small shrug, as if it weren’t a big deal. “I needed a job. Suppose beggars can’t be choosers.”

 

“The French are coming.”

 

“I know.” There was something in Fedya’s voice. Something Andrey had previously taken for carelessness. It wasn’t that. Fear or care had nothing to do with it. Fedya was simply resigned.

 

“Why don’t you just take her and leave? You could find work somewhere else, couldn’t you?” At that, Fedya started to laugh. But it wasn’t genuine. It was empty and wrong, just a tinge of despair underlaying it.

 

“Don’t you think I would have done that if I could?” He gave Andrey a weird look, one that the prince couldn’t quite place. “They don’t pay enough to feed one person and save for buying yourself free. Not unless you give it a year or 10. Let alone to feed two people and do that.”

 

 _Buying yourself free._ God. Fedya wasn’t just treated as property. He was, for all intends and purposes, property. That was sick. Andrey knew it was done, of course, who didn’t? But, like with everything else this night, he hadn’t cared before. He had never been this confused before. Not with anyone. Not in any situation.

 

And hell, even if Fedya got away somehow, did it matter? Sure, he wouldn’t get in the hands of the French, though that wasn’t a certainty either, but how long until he had to sell himself again? If he could. Fedya was incredibly handsome and talented, but there were still those scars. Andrey didn’t mind, but he was sure that owners of a brothel were less forgiving.

 

“I’ll buy you free,” he blurted out before he could think twice about it.

 

“What?” Fedya, who had been looking straight ahead again, looked back again. His expression was that of unmasked confusion and suspicion. It soon enough turned to one of anger. “Why the fuck would you buy me? I just told you I have a sister to take care off.” He stood up, clearly with the intention to walk away. “I should have left you out here. Suppose that’s what I get from giving a shit.” Before Fedya could leave, Andrey grabbed the man’s wrist as he stood up himself.

 

Fedya whipped around, obviously not at all happy with the fact that he was now prevented from leaving. It was clear that Andrey had to speak quickly. “I don’t want to buy you. I want to buy you _free_. No one should own you.” Now the confusion was back in Fedya’s face, the anger seemingly having disappeared. “And if you’d like… you could stay with me. You and your sister.”

 

Andrey looked up at Fedya, who was higher now due to the fact that he was standing a step above where Andrey was standing. There was no mischief in his eyes now. Just confusion and suspicion. But beneath that, barely visible, there was a shimmer of hope.

 

“You’re the one good thing that I’ve found out here. We feel good like this. At least, I think we do.” Confused as he was, at least that Andrey was certain to be true. “And if you think so too… Well, then that’s how it should be.” He knew it was a bit of a naive reasoning, but he didn’t care. And well, he could make it happen, couldn’t he? So why shouldn’t he reason like this?

 

Admittedly, Andrey was a bit afraid Fedya would simply agree to get out of here. He’d still do it, of course, but he’d prefer it if this -whatever ‘this’ exactly may be- wasn’t one sided. But when he looked back at those stormy eyes again, he knew immediately he was worried for nothing.

 

“Alright,” Fedya said with a light smile which was so completely different from the smirk Andrey had somehow already gotten used too. “But only if you get back inside right now. I swear I can feel this wood giving out.” Andrey chuckled and nodded. That certainly wasn’t a bad idea. So he took Fedya’s hand and went back inside with him.


	2. Our lives will change when tomorrow comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even the most beautiful night is followed by a morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this may be the longest fic I've written in a long time, but it's still not extremely long. Therefore I decided to ignore the period typical homophobia, as that would just create more complexity than this story needs. For the same reason, I decided that Old Bolkonsky is dead.

When Fedya had told Andrey he had a sister, the prince hadn’t expected the 8-year-old girl they picked up in a shabby flat. Once he had processed the fact that Fedya apparently had a sister 20 years younger than himself, Andrey was once again surprised. This time by the girl’s wit. Though maybe it shouldn’t have been very surprising. After all, her brother shared the trait. They were very much alike, despite their appearances. Galina’s hair was fair where Fedya’s was pitch black. Her features were soft and rounded where his seemed carved out of stone. But they had the same mischievous glint in their eyes, the same smirk on their lips.

 

It wasn’t strange then, that Andrey quickly developed an affection for this girl. Just like he had with her brother. It seemed that, once again, the affection was returned within the blink of an eye. It took only a couple of days for Galina to treat Andrey the exact same way she’d treat her brother.

 

The girl seemed to be considered likeable by more people than just Andrey. Once they had arrived at Bald Hills, it took Galina exactly 3 hours to charm the entire staff to the point that she’d get to eat cookie dough. Another hour and she had charmed Mary into liking her and Fedya. (Though how Galya had done that was beyond him.)

 

In stark contrast, it seemed no part of the staff really liked Fedya. Luckily it didn’t seem that the man cared all that much. Which was probably partly due to the fact that he wasn’t in the house much. He and Andrey would take hour long walks outside. It even came to the point that Andrey managed to convince the man to learn how to ride a horse. Somehow the convincing took more time than it took for Fedya to learn it and soon enough they were racing each other in the fields.

 

When inside, Fedya spent most of his time in the library. Contrary to what Andrey had expected, the man could read as easily as any well taught aristocrat and seemed to be even better than writing. Not that Andrey often got to read what Fedya wrote. The only things he got to read where the small pieces of paper with mere words or short sentences written on them. The ones that Fedya would fill when they spend the evening in Andrey’s study. Andrey at his desk, Fedya in the windowsill.

 

In the first week or so, Andrey turned down every one of Fedya’s attempts to have sex. Not that he didn’t want to -God knew he thought about that first night more often than he should-, but it didn’t seem like the right thing to do. He didn’t want Fedya to feel like he had to in order for him and his sister to stay there. And after that first week, Fedya stopped trying. It proved to Andrey that it had been the right thing to do, but he couldn’t help the twinge of disappointment he felt at that. Not necessarily because he wanted to have sex again. More than that because, the more time they spend together, the more Andrey’s feelings seemed to grow. They grew to the point that it was impossible to deny that this was merely a special liking or affection for a person. But Fedya giving up must have meant the feelings were one sided.

 

At least, that’s what Andrey thought. Until one evening, when they were in the study as usually and suddenly, the comfortable silence was broken by Fedya asking: “Is something wrong?”

 

Andrey looked up from the book he’d been reading, somewhat surprised and more than a little confused at the question. “No? Should there be?” Fedya shrugged and rolled his quill between his fingers, the way Andrey noticed he’d do when thinking about how to formulate something.

 

“I suppose not,” Fedya said. The quill stopped rolling. “Then why don’t you want to fuck anymore?” The question was surprising for a number of reasons, but mostly because Andrey didn’t think Fedya still wanted to. After all, he had stopped trying, hadn’t he?

 

“You don’t have to do that anymore. I offered for you and Galina to stay here, I enjoy spending time with you. You don’t have to pay for it in any way.”

 

“I know, I’m not stupid,” Fedya replied dryly. “But has it occurred to you that I _want_ to?” Andrey was silent for a couple of seconds. He hadn’t. Not really. He didn’t think he’d want to, had he been in Fedya’s position. But then there was the small fact… Andrey didn’t want to fuck Fedya. He wanted to make love to the man. He couldn’t say that though. So, he settled for saying: “I don’t want to be a lust object.” It was maybe a weird thing to say to someone who had been a prostitute less than a month ago. Therefore, Andrey had absolutely expected a sarcastic reaction. However, not the one he got.

 

“If I wanted to fuck for the sake of fucking someone, I’d go to the city and get paid for it too,” Fedya said, the hint of an amused smile playing around his lips. “Surprise, you’re not the only one with emotions here.” That was an interesting thing for Fedya to say, considering the fact that it had taken Andrey maybe an hour to realise this man was very good in hiding his emotions and acting like he had none. Well, he supposed that didn’t mean they weren’t there. And it seemed that for once, they weren’t hidden either.

 

One look at Fedya’s eyes told Andrey everything he needed to know. There were layers of emotions to find there. Sure, lust was definitely one of them, but it wasn’t nearly the most dominant. There was Fedya’s usual amusement, but beneath that… affection, care, hope, the slightest bit of fear… and love.

 

He had no idea who had moved first or even when he had decided to move, but Andrey found himself kissing Fedya as if his life depended on it. Arms slipped around waists, hands slipped in hair. It was impossible to determine whose body was whose.  Somehow Andrey ended up sitting on the desk, his fingers tangled in Fedya’s hair. And somehow his vest and jacket had disappeared and his shirt was open and Fedya’s hands were gliding over Andrey’s skin.

 

“I love you,” he whispered, once again having no idea when he had decided to say that. The timing was perhaps a bit unusual, but considering everything, it was more appropriate than any other moment. The hands on his waist stopped moving and Fedya’s eyes raised to meet Andrey’s.

 

“Fuck, I love you too,” Fedya said, which was equally appropriate, before pressing his lips against Andrey’s again. Those words even more than Fedya’s skilled hands and mouth seemed to send Andrey to entirely new heights.

 

For a few weeks, everything was perfect. They kissed, they made love, they even cuddled. Something which Andrey hadn’t expected Fedya wanted to be found dead doing. They read together, they slept together, they woke up in a tangle of limps. Galina was much more enthusiastic than you’d expect from a girl who had walked in on her brother kissing. Even Mary was quickly convinced to be alright with everything. At least, as long as she didn’t have to see either Andrey or Fedya naked.

 

Then the morning came.

 

Andrey woke up alone, which wasn’t entirely unusual. Fedya sometimes woke up too early for any normal human being to wake up. What was unusual, was that the man was nowhere to be found. He’d usually still be in the bedroom. Though with a quick glance at the clock on the mantle, Andrey concluded that it was also later than usual. So, it wasn’t unlikely that Fedya had decided to entertain himself somewhere else.

 

Andrey got dressed and made his way to the dining room. It was completely devoid of people, which considering the time was also not that weird. What was curious though, was an envelope laying on the table. Andrey always had his mail brought to his study, which was much more convenient. With the necessary suspicion, he picked up the envelope, which did have his name on it. And it didn’t take long at all to recognise the handwriting as Fedya’s. Even more weary now, Andrey opened the envelope and took out the small note that was in it.

 

_I’m sorry. I have to go._

_Please take care of Galina, she deserves a stable life._

_I promise I’ll pay for her._

_-Fedya_

 

Andrey stared at the note for what felt like ages. Once again, the by now well familiar question arose. _Why?_ Why did Fedya leave? Why did he ‘have to’? Why like this? It made no sense. Things had been going well, hadn’t they? There had been no indication that Fedya had been unhappy. Had he gotten himself into trouble? Andrey would have expected to have heard something about it if there had been troubles, but he also knew Fedya was good at keeping secrets. God, what if he was in danger? There would be nothing Andrey could do because he had no idea what was going on. Just a bit more information, damnit. An explanation, that’s all he wanted right now.

 

Well. That and Fedya. He wanted the man there. At least to tell him to his face _why._

 

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and Andrey’s heart clenched together. He was filled with sadness and worry and confusion and loss and _pain_. All those emotions swirling together and making him want to throw up. His knuckles were turning white from his grip on the paper. Soon enough tears landed on it, making the ink run. And just like that, Andrey crumpled down until he was seated in one of the chairs. The note had fallen to the floor as Andrey’s hands were used to cover his face. Sobs wrecked through his body and the sunlight that poured in through the window seemed colder than anything ever had before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? I have to live on Andrey's tears. And probably those of readers as well.
> 
> As always, let me know what you think! Or yell at me, whichever makes you feel better XD


	3. We might breathe the same air tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we all realise Fedya is a bit of an idiot sometimes.

It had been two years. Two years since Andrey had last seen Fedya. The only reason Andrey still knew the man was alive, was because of the money that came in every month. Honestly, Andrey didn’t need the money. Galina didn’t eat a lot (at least, not more than you’d expect) and she didn’t ask for much either. Still, it was a nice confirmation. It would of course have been better if one of those envelopes actually carried a message of some sorts. Or even better, if they were delivered by Fedya himself. Preferably with an explanation.

 

But after the first few months it had become apparent that neither the man nor an explanation would arrive. It didn’t answer the questions Andrey still had and it sure as hell didn’t relieve his pain or concerns. But he had to live with it now. Just as he had to live with seeing Fedya’s smirk in Galina’s and seeing his eyes in her face.

 

Luckily, distraction soon enough showed itself. A few weeks after Fedya had left, Andrey’s leave had ended and he returned back to the army. An added distraction, one that was admittedly better than the first, were the letters. The letters he got from Galina and wrote to her, giving her all kinds of details about the places and towns he had seen. The letters he got from his sister about life at Bald Hills. And, surprisingly, the letters he got and wrote to Natasha Rostova. He had met the Countess a few years prior and she had, somewhat irregularly, kept visiting after that. Of course, Andrey had no misconceptions and knew the woman wasn’t coming for him. Well, not usually anyway. But that didn’t mean they hadn’t become friends. Quite the contrary actually.

 

No one had become as mad about Fedya’s departure as Natasha had. She had never met the man, but she already disliked him. It was surprisingly comforting. As were her letters. They were extremely mundane. Talking about the latest party, who wore what to the opera, who was falling in love and which Anna was worse now. Things Andrey usually wouldn’t care for. But it seemed that it was exactly the simplicity that made it so comforting. And Natasha had a talent for writing everything as if it were marvellous.

 

The third and final distraction was a bit more… out of the ordinary. Andrey would go to the club with the other officers. Not to get drunk, like they did, but simply to observe them being drunk. It was weirdly interesting. As drunk people were inclined to make stupid decisions, it was even more interesting to watch the soldiers gamble. Usually, everyone at the table was drunk, which made for rather foolish games.

 

This was exactly the reason Andrey was making his way through a club now. He had arrived somewhat late, which meant that most people inside were drunk already. There were hot bodies on every side, both from officers and their prostitutes. Andrey wasn’t interested in either though, so he quickly made his way to the back, where the tables were filled with people gambling their money away.

 

“Denisov, are you in or out?”

 

The sentence shouldn’t have been audible amongst all other sounds. But that voice. Andrey would be able to hear that voice over canon fire. He turned around to the table the voice had come from and he was sure his heart stopped beating.

 

There sat Fedya, looking practically the same as he had two years ago. There was something different though and it wasn’t the wolfish grin that sat on his lips. Though what it was, Andrey couldn’t figure out in that moment. Fedya was sharing his chair with another man, who Andrey almost immediately recognised as Anatole Kuragin. Not only were they sharing a seat, but Anatole very clearly had his hands under Fedya’s shirt. It made Andrey’s stomach twist and turn and he wanted to walk away. More than that though, he wanted to know. To know _why._

 

“Fedya?”

 

All heads at the table turned to look at him. The two other players looked almost completely uninterested. That wasn’t the case for Anatole or Fedya though. Fedya’s eyes had almost unnoticeably widened and Anatole had a strangely possessive look on his face. As if to emphasize that, he started kissing Fedya’s neck, seemingly not caring that it was out of place. Of course he wouldn’t. Anatole Kuragin didn’t have a reputation for his propriety.

 

It became apparent that no one else would start talking, so Andrey had to continue. “Can we maybe talk?” Anatole looked up again, that same possessive glint in his eye. And when Fedya nodded and moved to stand up, the blond pulled him back in the chair.

 

“Anatole, let go,” Fedya said, though he didn’t quite look at the prince. Suddenly Andrey realised what was different about the man. His eyes. They didn’t have their glint anymore. Not the mischief, not the wit and not the confidence. They were tired. It made Andrey wonder what on earth had led Fedya to making them that way.

 

“I paid for your valuable time, _mon cher_ , I don’t think it would be fair if you were to leave me now,” Anatole said, his voice as smooth as silk. This time, Fedya did look at the prince and before Andrey could blink, they were kissing. Anatole’s hands were firmly on Fedya’s hips, while the other man’s hands were twisted in his shirt. Without his permission, Andrey’s memories went back to years ago. When he had been in Anatole’s place and he could almost feel Fedya’s lips again. It made him feel a jealousy he had never thought he’d feel. After all, he thought it to be a rather petty emotion.

 

It took a little while, but eventually Anatole and Fedya broke apart. Anatole looked more satisfied than possessive now. A bit too pleased with himself in Andrey’s opinion. The blond looked at him with that satisfied smirk of his as he told Fedya: “Go on, make it quick, I want that ass back here before I lose your money.”

 

“You’ll have lost it before I’m out of the room,” Fedya retorted with a light smirk as he stood up from the chair, this time free to go. It seemed a risky thing to say to Andrey, but Anatole only chuckled and didn’t seem to mind one bit. With a small jerk of his head, Fedya told Andrey to follow him. Andrey had expected to be led to a room of sorts, but instead he was led back outside.

 

It was rather chilly outside, probably even more so for Fedya, who was wearing nothing that vaguely resembled a coat. Well, now was not the time to feel sorry for the man. At least, not until Andrey had heard an explanation that granted that and so far he hadn’t heard anything yet.

 

“What do you want?” Fedya asked, his voice not nearly as harsh as his words. The question caught Andrey somewhat off guard. Wasn’t it obvious? What other reason could Andrey possibly have for wanting to talk to Fedya?

 

“What do you think?” Andrey shot back, not exactly in the mood to be played with. Certainly not by Fedya.

 

“Well, if I were you, I’d probably want to shoot me,” Fedya answered, to Andrey’s surprise. “But then again, I’d have saved myself the energy and just left me to my own misery altogether.” He gave a small shrug. “So I don’t know. Why do you think I asked?”

 

For a second, Andrey couldn’t tell if he was still being played with or not, but it became clear soon enough that Fedya was entirely serious. To be fair, it wasn’t an entirely unreasonable scenario. “No… I just want to know why. Why did you leave the way you did? You could at least have explained yourself in that note. Or you could have talked to me. I would have helped, you know. If you were in trouble or-”

 

“I wasn’t,” Fedya cut him off. “I simply decided that living off of your charity was too big a risk. What if one day you’d decide you didn’t want to pay anymore? I just got out before you got the chance.” His eyes may have been tired, but they didn’t show any other emotions. Gave no indication of whether Fedya was telling the truth or not. Still…

 

“You’re lying,” Andrey said, aware that that wasn’t necessarily true. He suspected Fedya wasn’t lying but simply not telling the entire truth. Probably not even the biggest part. “If that were all, you wouldn’t have left. You would have lived off of me for as long as you could while getting a more decent job somewhere. You wouldn’t go back to this.” The latter was a bit of a gamble, as Andrey wasn’t sure if that was true. But he thought that Fedya would be smart enough to get himself in a more advantageous position than being Anatole Kuragin’s whore. The thought made Andrey sick. “I think I deserve the truth, Fyodor.”

 

Fedya sighed and nodded. “You do.” He looked away and Andrey was sure that if there had been a quill, it would be rolling now. “I know it’s stupid, but…” He frowned a little, still not looking at the prince. “Look, I knew your leave was coming to an end. I’m not a fool. The war is dangerous and I know it hasn’t exactly been improving lately. I didn’t want to sit around and wait for you to die. I’m sick of getting hurt.”

 

Now it was Andrey’s turn to interrupt the other. “Wait, so you simply decided to hurt me instead?” Disbelieve coloured his voice and probably his features as he looked at the other. It seemed like such a selfish thing to do, especially to someone who Fedya said he loved. It made Fedya look back at him, confusion replacing the tiredness in his eyes.

 

“What?” he asked, that same confusion clear in his voice. “Why would you be hurt?” It was clear that this concept, which was completely logical to Andrey, truly made no sense to Fedya. “I know what I am, there is no use to pretend otherwise. Besides, who gets hurt over a man who left them without giving any kind of explanation? Anger seems more appropriate.”

 

This, Andrey supposed, was a fair enough reasoning. Of course, it only worked because Fedya left out the part where they loved each other. Or well… at least where Andrey loved Fedya. He wasn’t so sure anymore that those feelings were returned. Though if Fedya didn’t care for Andrey at all, he wouldn’t have been afraid to get hurt by his death. So there had to be something.

 

“I didn’t want to lose you,” Fedya continued with yet another shrug. The nonchalance in the gesture was in stark contrast with the emotion on Fedya’s face and in his voice. An emotion Andrey could only describe as regret. “Can’t lose what you don’t have.”

 

“But you already had me…,” Andrey said quietly.

 

Fedya nodded and sighed. “Yeah, I know. I told you it was stupid, didn’t I?”

 

“But you didn’t miss me? At all?” It was cruel perhaps to wish loss on someone else, but Andrey really hoped that Fedya had missed him. Even if it was just a little. At least then he was sure it had meant something. And well, considering everything, surely, he was allowed a bit of selfishness?

 

“Are you kidding me? Of course I did,” Fedya said, wrapping his arms around himself, probably in an effort to stay warm. “Why do you think I went all the way to this forgotten corner of the earth? Took me all I had to not walk back to the estate. Especially after I realised I had lost you either way.”

 

Well, that made no sense. At all. If Fedya had done all of this on his own accord, there had been nothing stopping him from going back. “So why didn’t you?”

 

“Like you would have just accepted a sorry, short explanation and continued like nothing happened.”

 

Andrey stared at Fedya for what must have been at least half a minute. “Of course I would have.” Seeing the realisation settle on the other man’s face would have been comical hadn’t it been for the rest of the situation.

 

Now it was Fedya’s turn to stare at Andrey, though he looked more like someone was playing a cruel joke on him. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

 

It was probably due to released tension and stress, but Andrey couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him. “Yes, yes you absolutely are.”

 

Fedya slumped against the wall. Contrary to Andrey, he seemed even more stressed than a few minutes before. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I- God, I’m such an idiot.” There were tears gathering in those eyes now, which was absolutely not something Andrey had ever expected to see. It made him reconsider for a second. It was clear that Fedya had hurt just as much as Andrey had, in a different way perhaps but that didn’t make it less. And well, his reasoning may be crooked, very much so. But it wasn’t completely inconceivable. And what point was there in holding petty grudges anyway? Especially if it only caused more hurt.

 

“Come home with me,” Andrey said, not unlike he had that night two years ago. “I’ll take my leave. Just… please come home.” He closed the distance between them, taking Fedya’s hand in his own.

 

“What? Just like that?” Fedya looked up at Andrey, confusion once again clear to be seen in eyes that now reflected the stars above them. Confusion, suspicion and that small glimmer of hope.

 

“Yes. Just don’t ever do this again, okay? We can talk like normal people.” Fedya let out a short chuckle at that and nodded. All words seemed to lose their meaning right there and then. But as their lips connected, Andrey knew they didn’t need words anyway.

 

It was under the moon and night sky that Andrey wound his arms around Fedya again. And this time he wouldn’t let him run. He would keep him there for as long as he could. They had wasted enough time as it was, no need to add to it.

 

“I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I don't hate Anatole. I actually had an alternative version to basically the entire story where Anatole was a good and nice person. Sadly, I wanted a happy ending XD


	4. Brightening the sky with a flame of love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue

Andrey could hear the backdoor open and close behind him, but didn’t turn his head to look back. Instead he was looking up at the moon and stars that filled the dark night sky.

 

“You’re going to freeze out here,” Fedya’s voice sounded from behind him. At the same time, Fedya’s arms wrapped around Andrey’s waist. The prince could feel his lover’s body pressed against his back and only because of the difference in temperature, realised how cold it must have been out. He couldn’t supress the small shiver than ran through his body. Perhaps due to the cold or perhaps due to Fedya’s breath ghosting on his neck. Both were equally likely.

 

“I know,” Andrey said, placing his hands over Fedya’s. “But the sky is pretty. And calm.” The hum that Andrey felt more than he heard it indicated that Fedya exactly understood what was keeping Andrey outside. Well, how could he not? Feeling claustrophobic in the house was a trait they both shared.

 

“Alright. But I believe Natasha and Mary could be here any minute and I’m not saving you from Rostova,” Fedya warned him, causing Andrey to chuckle. Unsurprisingly, it had been Natasha who had taken the longest to accept Fedya back in. Two weeks and four days to be precise. After that the two had developed some kind of friendship surprisingly quickly. Now it was downright dangerous to start a discussion with either of them when the other was close by, as they were all too happy to cooperate in proving someone wrong. That didn’t mean Natasha was going easy on Fedya. More the contrary. If they liked proving other people wrong, they absolutely loved proving each other wrong. And it became quickly apparent she could be very scary if she wanted to be. Which was usually either when proving Fedya wrong, getting him to do something or if she was protecting Mary. The latter was much cuter than the first two.

 

At that precise moment, there was a light to be seen that was travelling closer to the manor. Soon enough the light divided into multiple lights and seconds later the carriage itself was visible. Andrey ticked on Fedya’s hand to get his attention and said: “Speak of the devil.”

 

Fedya let out an audible groan. “And your lips are blue.” That was news for Andrey, though he wasn’t all that surprised. “Well, fuck me sideways I guess.”

 

“Can be arranged,” Andrey chuckled, for which he was rewarded with a half-hearted slap on his stomach. “What? You’re bendy enough for it.” He looked back over his shoulder, right back in those eyes, now glittering with mischief again.

 

“Sure, but are you?” Fedya shot back, a confident smirk curling up his lips. “Am afraid we’ll have to make it quick though. I sincerely doubt your sister will appreciate it if we use the table for ‘the wrong purposes’-” Andrey could _hear_ the air quotations “-again.”

 

“We have a bedroom,” Andrey dryly pointed out. He turned around in Fedya’s arms so he could actually look at his lover without having to twist his neck. Going to the bedroom now sounded much more appealing than going to have dinner did. Luckily, Andrey still had his sense and wasn’t planning on changing his plans for the evening.

 

“But what’s the fun in that?” Fedya asked, raising an eyebrow as his smirk grey. “But never mind. It seems the girls really have come back now. And Drush, I love you, but I’m not going to get myself strangled because you need to proof you’re still young and flexible.”

 

“Fedya... I’m only a year older than you are.”

 

“Or I only told you that to make you feel better about yourself.”

 

Andrey looked at his lover for a few seconds, not saying anything. After those few seconds, he said with all the dryness he could conjure up: “I have seen your papers.” Of course, he had given them to Fedya almost as soon as he had gotten them, but he had seen the man’s birth date.

 

Luckily for Fedya, he was spared from answering by the door opening once again. This time it was Mary and Natasha who appeared in the doorframe, holding each other’s hand. Natasha looked from Andrey to Fedya and back and then shook her head. “Are you two too busy with eating each other’s faces or shall we have actual dinner?”

 

“Actually…,” Fedya began, before he was interrupted by Natasha saying: “Don’t you dare, Fyodor. You two are getting inside this very second and we’ll have dinner like we agreed to.” She was, once again, very scary so the two men didn’t even think about protesting as they made their way inside. Or well. Andrey didn’t. He had no doubt Fedya was still considering it, though he didn’t actually try it out.

 

Andrey glanced up at the night sky as he moved to close the back door. The stars were still up there sparkling like a million lights. It was very tempting to stay there, but a hand on his back and a kiss on his shoulder were all he needed to close the door and welcome the warmth from inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished a multichap fic! That's revolutionary, let me tell you that. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading it (for the handful of people who actually read it) and I'm working on a new multichap, so let's see how that works out.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think! I love to hear people's opinions and I'm always looking to improve my writing.


End file.
